


this snow will melt before i do

by liknow



Series: merry christmas, minchan [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3+1, 5+1 Things, But we love him for it, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Denial of Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Merry Christmas, Oblivious Bang Chan, Pining, except it's 3, minchan soft boys, minho is a little dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21998788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liknow/pseuds/liknow
Summary: All Minho wants this christmas is Chan's attention (and maybe a little more).
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: merry christmas, minchan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076705
Comments: 14
Kudos: 368





	this snow will melt before i do

**[1]**

It was Christmas Eve, and the boys were as busy as ever. Unfortunately, due to their packed end-of-the-year schedules, they couldn’t see their families yet, but they themselves were already a family of sorts, so they tried to enjoy every second of free time they had together during the holidays. They had just finished recording for another music show, but that was all they had on their schedule for the night; the plan was for them to relax back at the dorms so they’d be rested up for an unfortunately busy Christmas Day.

Minho was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a red blanket, steadily gazing at something out of the corner of his eye. The others had enthusiastically voted on playing some American Christmas movie with subtitles—but he hadn’t paid attention to much of it so far, and now he was just lost. His eyes flitted back and forth as he debated moving to sit on the ground—more specifically, moving to sit next to a certain someone on the ground.

Chan was as far as he could be from Minho, plopped down on a pillow on the living room carpet, leaning against the opposite side of the couch. There wasn’t nearly enough room for all of them on the piece of furniture, but they always made it work by building makeshift couches and mattresses on the ground with extra pillows and blankets. Movie nights or gaming sessions were fun even when they were all cramped up like this—especially fun for Minho, at least when he had someone to cuddle.

But he didn’t. Not today.

Though he had a very cuddly Felix to his right, the younger boy was already occupied, half-sprawled across Seungmin’s lap with his eyes falling shut, leaving Minho with nothing but his thin blanket and an itching desire to wrap himself around someone… to wrap himself around _Chan_.

Minho wouldn’t say he was _clingy_ , at least not openly. It wasn’t in his nature to ask for things or let himself appear needy around others—the last thing he wanted was to look desperate. But it had been days since he and Chan had even properly been around each other outside of group schedules, and right now, the leader was paying more attention to the television, quite literally unblinking, than he’d paid to Minho in what felt like ages.

The younger pouted in the dark, forcing his eyes away from the boy on the ground in one last attempt to understand the plot of the movie. It was hopeless, though. He could already feel himself shifting into a bad mood, and unless he did something desperately out-of-character, Chan would probably go on another week without giving him a proper glance.

He paused for a moment, staring at the movie but too busy plotting to actually read the subtitles. That's when a _fantastic_ idea hit him.

Slowly but surely, he began to act, his hands reaching back as subtly as possible to grab the small, round pillow he’d been leaning back against and pulling it into his lap for a moment while he surveyed the group’s leader, who remained as focused as ever on the screen.

Minho saw Seungmin eye him questioningly from the side, seemingly recognizing the evil glint in the elder's eyes after seeing it directed at himself far too many times, but Minho paid him no mind, and before he could stop himself (or before Seungmin could), he launched the pillow across the room, directly at Chan.

It hit its target without fault. The leader jumped almost violently when he felt the soft pillow hit his shoulder, abruptly snapping out of his movie-watching trance. He whipped around to face Minho, alarmed, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you?” he asked, feigning annoyance, but Minho could see his goofy smile in the dark, and it sped up his heartbeat tenfold. He giggled, ignoring the strange looks from the other members on the ground, overjoyed at the attention he was receiving, but… Chan was already turning to face back to the television, holding the pillow Minho had tossed at him in his arms while he refocused his attention on the film.

Minho clenched his jaw, the adrenaline he’d felt for the five seconds he’d had Chan’s precious attention fading quickly. He shifted around on the couch, pulling the blanket around himself tighter while trying to appear unbothered—Changbin was now watching him amusedly from the floor in front of him (and Minho withheld the urge to kick the younger). His eyes went back to the television for the hundredth time that night, but his efforts to care about the movie he’d already missed a quarter of were hopeless. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop his eyes from floating back to Chan, nor could he stop his brain from thinking about how much warmer he’d feel if he had the elder wrapped around him instead of the stupid blanket.

He huffed at himself and his dramatic thoughts. He really _wasn’t_ all that clingy, nor was he weirdly obsessed with Chan… or anything like that. Because of their closeness in age, the two connected well—better than with the others, at times. They had a sense of ease around each other, and like everyone in Stray Kids, they knew each other inside out. And though they had their moments of teasing and bickering, every now and then they’d come to this place, this sort of _bubble_ , where everything silently fell into place. Neither openly acknowledged it, nor attempted to label it, but both boys knew there was something _different_ about it, about _them_.

But they couldn’t stay in that bubble at all times—in fact, they could hardly enter it at all. They were idols; they were busy. And to add onto that, Minho was bad at expressing his feelings, while Chan was equally bad at perceiving them.

The younger of the two was now restless on the couch, swinging his legs as he impatiently wracked his brain for another way to grab the elder’s attention. He squirmed around plenty, thinking perhaps he could catch Chan’s eye if he moved around enough, but when Seungmin gave him a light shove and pointed defensively at the sleeping Felix in his lap, he gave up with a sigh.

Fine. He’d have to take a more serious route, then.

After several minutes of internal discourse, Minho dramatically stood from the couch, blanket still wrapped around him. He then carefully stepped around the members sprawled across the carpet, pausing with a loud exhale where he loomed over Chan, waiting for the elder to look up at him.

When the leader didn’t even blink in his presence—too absorbed in whatever emotional family scene was occurring on the screen ahead of him—Minho kicked lightly at his folded legs, glaring down fervently.

“Hm?” Chan hummed, finally looking up at him, eyes filled with concern. Minho’s heart twisted. He almost felt bad for disturbing him as part of his petty antics. “What is it?”

“I’m going to bed,” he whispered down at the elder, expectantly awaiting his response.

Despite all that had happened on _this_ specific night, Minho was usually all for movie nights. He loved watching movies—in fact, any other time, he’d be the one begging for them to stay up to watch another, and another. When the other members fell asleep, he’d normally be the last one awake, contently watching through to the end while he cuddled up with whoever was dozing off against him.

So for him to walk out on a movie night was… was _genius_. Chan would be confused, perhaps confused enough to hear his silent cry for help, maybe even confused enough to follow him and talk to him. Minho, personally, felt like the smartest person in the world for coming up with such an arrangement.

This arrangement, however, came crumbling down just as quickly as the last.

“Oh, you tired?” Chan asked, reaching up to lightly pat one of the younger boy’s knees as he turned back to the television. “Okay. Sleep well, Lino.”

Minho stared down at the top of the Australian’s head, mouth agape. At this point, he felt like he may as well have made a sign with the leader’s name painted across it, may as well have just flat out _begged_ for his attention—yet even then, he probably wouldn’t have given him the time of day. All he wanted to do in that moment was fling himself onto the ground and lie across Chan’s lap, but he couldn’t do that. He didn’t quite understand why—and he didn’t try to—but he knew that he simply _couldn’t_.

So he gritted his teeth instead, loudly stomping around the leader as he left to enter the hallway that led to their bedrooms. He glanced back for a millisecond, checking to see if maybe at least _that_ had grabbed the elder’s attention.

Nothing. Nothing at all, except for a raised eyebrow from Changbin.

Minho huffed as he entered his room, casting himself onto bed. He was as frustrated as ever, and the fact that he could hardly admit to himself _why_ he was so frustrated only made him feel even _more_ frustrated.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered into his pillow, bored out of his mind now that he was alone in the room and no longer had a specific Australian boy to try and gain the attention of.

Thinking about Chan while he lied alone in bed only made him more upset, though, so as he slowly drifted to sleep, he cautiously tried to think of nothing at all.

**[2]**

“Merry Christmas!” someone screamed, jumping on Minho’s bed. His eyes flew open, the night before currently forgotten as he focused on the excited Jisung in his face. He grumbled something along the lines of “go away, I’m still sleeping,” but pulled the younger into a sleepy hug, anyway.

“Come on, hyung, you slept longer than any of us,” Jisung argued, bringing the elder's mind back unwillingly to the previous night. “Chan and Hyunjin are cooking breakfast before we go, so get up!”

Minho sat up suddenly, mind locked on Chan— _God_ , why couldn’t he just let whatever he was feeling right now go? Usually he’d be over it by now, or at least able to _act_ as if he were.

The younger was already tugging him from his bunk, though, before he could protest and tunnel himself back into the warm sheets. He let himself be pulled down the hallway with a weary sigh. The pair, soon enough, stumbled into the kitchen, where, as Jisung had informed, Chan was flipping pancakes, Hyunjin right by his side.

Jisung had not, however, included Chan’s shirtlessness in his description.

Minho stopped dead in his tracks, a million thoughts flooding through his head at once as he stared at the leader’s bare back.

“Is Minho-hyung up?” Jeongin called from the living room. “Tell him to come here!”

Jisung started tugging at Minho’s hand again, but the elder stayed frozen in his place, offering him a weak “be right there, Jisungie” to which the younger nodded obliviously before running off to join the others in the living room.

Minho blinked, still staring at Chan, who was too focused—as per usual—to turn back and notice Minho. So the younger, in a moment of boldness or desperation or _both_ , stalked up to the leader, softly placing a chin on his shoulder as he peered over at the pancakes he was cooking.

“Hi,” he announced, wanting to wrap his arms around Chan’s torso, but leaving them to hang awkwardly at his sides, instead.

“Hey, merry Christmas, sleepy,” the leader said, eyes locked on the stove.

“Why didn’t I get a hi _,_ hyung?” Hyunjin complained from next to Chan. Minho narrowed his eyes warningly, and the younger raised his hands in surrender.

“Hi,” Minho mumbled to him, despite his threatening look from moments ago. He was mere seconds away from wrapping his arms around Chan and resting his hands on the leader’s bare stomach, but continued to hold himself back from doing so. “Channie, why are you all naked? You’re gonna freeze.”

Chan nearly turned to look at Minho after his comment, but Hyunjin interrupted quickly enough.

“Like hyung even gets cold,” he teased, obliviously moving to wrap his arms around the leader’s torso. “He’s basically a heat pack!”

Minho clenched his jaw, incredibly jealous of how easily Hyunjin could do exactly what he _wanted_ to do so badly, without hesitation.

“Enough!” the leader giggled at the sudden touches, squirming around so Hyunjin’s arms fell away and Minho’s chin fell off his shoulder. “Go wait with the others on the couch, Minho. Hyunjin and I are almost done with the food.”

Minho huffed, once again annoyed at Chan for not noticing how badly he wanted to be around him—for not even sparing him a glance while _he_ , on the other hand, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the elder for as long as a second. His body was filled with so many conflicting emotions, and he was growinguncomfortably close to overflowing.

“Fine,” he snapped. Then added, “Put a shirt on, hyung.”

Minho made his second dramatic exit within the past day, not bothering to look back this time, for he already knew that Chan wasn’t him paying attention.

He entered the living room to a chorus of coos from the other members.

“Aw, look how grumpy hyung is!” Changbin laughed, tugging Minho down onto the couch with the others, who quickly poked at his sides and hugged him.

“Cheer up, hyung, it’s Christmas—and you get to spend it with me!” Jeongin chirped from the end of the couch, squeezing Minho's hands.

Minho smiled in spite of himself, hiding his face embarrassedly in Felix’s lap. All of the recent pent up frustration seemed to seep from his body, at least for the moment. He wouldn’t let whatever he was feeling get in the way of their Christmas. After all, he’d probably get over this whole Chan thing soon enough, anyway—he always did.

**[3]**

He was right, at first. The boys sailed smoothly through their Christmas schedules without any complications, Minho included. He was in a better mood than he’d been in all week, bouncing up and down in the cold as the group waited for their transportation back to the dorms to arrive, giggling at something Changbin was talking about.

“Hey,” their manager called, attracting everyone’s attention as a single black car pulled up. “We only have the one car right now, so everyone’s going to have to pack in there today, okay?”

The boys groaned at the news. Usually, situations like this would be solved with intense _rock, paper, scissors_ sessions that decided which members had to cram into one seat together, but there was seemingly no time for that as they were all abruptly shuffled inside of the vehicle upon its arrival.

“Okay, I’ll be nice this Christmas and let someone sit on my lap,” Chan announced as he plopped down in a seat, leading to a chorus of relieved cheers from the other members. Minho, on the other hand, froze where he was standing outside on the pavement.

He absolutely _loathed_ his brain for latching onto the idea of sitting in Chan’s lap, having his full attention for the car ride back to the dorms, but he couldn’t help himself. The few hours of normality he’d experienced since that morning weren’t enough to stop him from lapsing back into his earlier mindset.

Finally, grabbing his pride and throwing it behind him, he shoved himself inside the vehicle, determined to have his way at last.

“I will—” he started to say but quickly cut himself off at the sight of Jeongin already making himself comfortable on Chan’s lap.

He stopped and stared, their manager yelling from behind him for him to hurry up and find a spot.

Chan, of course, sat in total oblivion, too busy inspecting the seatbelt to see if it would still reach across him with the additional person in his lap. Jeongin, on the other hand, caught onto everything that had happened, and grinned evilly at Minho.

“Sorry, hyung,” he said with a toothy smile. “Maybe next time!”

Minho wanted to hiss at the younger but instead played off his annoyance and mild embarrassment with an overly enthusiastic pat on the shoulder, which earned him a shrill “Ow!” from the youngest. He shook his head at himself, no longer excited to go back to the dorms to celebrate, simply wanting to bury himself in the snow until his brain froze over.

He heard Changbin laugh as he glumly threw himself down on the open seat next to him, squeezing between him and the window.

“There, there,” he said with a smile, patting Minho’s head reassuringly. Minho sent him a moody glare from the side, wondering how on Earth the other members seemed to catch onto his behaviors so easily—of course, everyone but _Chan_.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Minho said bitterly, crossing his arms.

Changbin bumped their shoulders together. “You should just talk to him, hyung.”

Though the younger's voice was plenty quiet, Minho’s eyes still widened at the statement—Chan was _right_ in front of them. He whipped to face Changbin with panic painting his expression.

“Shut up,” he hissed, bumping Changbin's shoulder back twice as hard, making him cackle.

“Just saying,” he hummed, to which Minho pouted, turning to face the window. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, much less about _this_. His eyes wandered the landscape blankly for the entire car ride, though he hardly saw anything, the loud thoughts in his brain clouding over everything else.

**[+]**

Minho had been on edge from the moment the boys stepped back into the dorms, ready to celebrate Christmas with each other and call their families (if possible). He sat like a statue on the floor next to Jeongin, who’d just opened all of the accessories the elder had bought him and was now hugging the life out of him, but his mind was far away—across the room, actually.

Chan was currently waving goodbye to his family, who he’d been on a FaceTime call with for the past half hour with Hyunjin and Felix glued to his sides. The other members were scattered throughout the room, either opening presents from each other or on the phone with their own families.

“Hey, Earth to Minho-hyung,” Jeongin called quietly, poking Minho’s arm. The elder jolted, tearing his eyes away from the leader who sat perched on the couch, unaware of all the staring that’d been going on from the moment he sat down.

“Sorry, I spaced out,” he said to the younger with a warm smile, pinching his cheek. “You like the rings?”

Jeongin beamed. “Yeah, I love them. But you should go talk to Chan hyung, now that he’s free and all.” He motioned toward the couch, where Hyunjin and Felix just so happened to be suddenly standing up, abandoning the leader to go open their presents from each other.

Minho swallowed, alarmed that this was the second time today a member had told him to speak to Chan—even more alarmed by the fact that it was his precious little _Jeongin_.

“Why—why would I do that?” he asked nervously, ruffling the youngest's hair, forcing himself to not look back over at the couch to see what Chan was doing now.

“You tell me,” Jeongin replied with a blank look that said far too much. Minho’s heart nearly stopped. What the _hell_ was this child so perceptive for—and _when_ did he grow up so much?

Minho's eyes surveyed the rest of the room, mind racing faster than he could keep up with. He sucked on his lower lip pensively.

“Look, Felix is crying over the games you bought him again,” he said, nodding his head toward the boy, who was literally crying while hugging a gift bag to his chest.

“Okay, I’ll go over to him, now,” Jeongin said carefully, sending Minho a knowing look that the elder desperately tried to ignore. “Thanks for the rings again, hyung.”

And then he was walking away, leaving Minho to stare ahead at Chan, who was now engaged in some conversation across the room with Changbin, who was sat on the ground by their television, opening a box of candy.

Minho swallowed. He didn’t exactly know _what_ he was going to do, but he figured it was about time he _did_ it. Yes, it was now or never. So, shakily, he pulled himself to his feet, crossing the room to confront Chan before he could stop himself.

“Hi,” he announced himself, plopping down on the leader’s lap so that he was facing him, trying not let himself look as nervous as he felt at the moment. Minho sighed in relief when the elder’s arms looped around his waist instinctively. This was nothing out of the ordinary, really, but it still sent his heart into overdrive. 

“Hi, Lino,” Chan sang, smiling up at the younger, but his attention was quickly diverted by Changbin, who was apparently still yelling about whatever they'd been arguing about at the leader, despite Minho’s blatant interruption.

Minho listened to them banter back and forth for a while, shifting around on the elder’s lap, trying not to feel frustrated at the way he was still being ignored—despite literally _sitting_ _on him_.

“Hyung,” he mumbled, bracing his hands on Chan’s shoulders. Hell, he just wanted _something_ from the elder at this point, _anything_. Chan hummed in acknowledgement when he heard the younger call him, one hand starting to rub circles onto his back subconsciously—which almost made the younger fall over—but his attention stayed directed at Changbin, who was practically shrieking at this point.

“Come over here, then, hyung!” Changbin shouted at him, and Minho’s eyes widened astronomically at the possibility of Chan getting up and leaving him before he could do anything.

He cleared his throat, heat racing. “Channie,” he called louder, a little more urgently, shaking Chan’s shoulders, but the elder was too invested in whatever he was arguing with Changbin about to listen to him. He even went as far as grabbing Minho’s waist, attempting to move the younger off of him so he could get up from the couch. Minho acted in sheer panic, hands squeezing down on Chan’s shoulder’s so hard it must’ve hurt, thighs tightening on either side of him in desperation.

“ _Chan-hyung_ ,” he whined loudly, almost embarrassingly loud, louder than he’d ever addressed him before, moving his hands to grab the leader’s face so frantically that finally, _finally_ he saw something click in his eyes.

Chan stared him straight in the face now, wide-eyed, banter with Changbin instantly forgotten.

“Hi,” the leader breathed, looking shocked as though he was just now realizing how close Minho was to him. He gazed into the younger's eyes intensely, as if inspecting every flicker of emotion that passed over them.

Now that he’d finally gotten Chan’s attention, Minho was suddenly speechless, breath caught in his throat as they looked back and forth at each other across the few inches between them.

“I—” Minho whispered, clearing his throat quietly, eyes still locked with the elder. “I’ve been trying to get your attention _forever_.”

He tried to play off the words jokingly, teasingly, but they came out as he’d feared—quiet, desperate.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” Chan replied apologetically, voice low and eyes glistening at Minho's confession, one hand reaching out to brush a strand of his hair back into place. The younger nearly melted on the spot, not expecting the pet name nor the soft touches. “You have me now, what’s up?”

“Gross!” one of the younger members yelled from behind the pair, throwing a ball of wrapping paper at Minho’s back. “Get a room, would you?”

Minho tore his eyes from Chan’s for the first time since they’d made eye contact and turned his body sharply, eyes narrowed, red clouding his vision.

“ _Hey_ ,” he hissed at the culprit, Hyunjin, trying to reach down to grab the ball of wrapping paper and hurl back at him ten times as hard. “Can you fu—“

“Okay, okay, enough!” Chan yelled nervously, speedily covering Minho’s mouth with his warm palm and using his other hand to latch onto Minho’s wrist before it could grab the wrapping paper. The younger froze at the action, hot anger flooding from his head and seemingly going to his cheeks instead. He meekly turned back around to face Chan.

“No fighting on Christmas, okay?” the leader declared to the two, then continued more quietly, so only Minho could hear, “Why don’t we go talk somewhere less crowded, hm?”

Minho was surprised he didn’t turn to a puddle in the leader’s lap right then and there. All he could do in response was nod, eyes wide and jaw slacked—this was exactly what he'd been waiting for, but to hear the suggestion come out of the leader’s mouth at last shocked him to his core. Chan offered a soothing smile, finally removing his hand from Minho's mouth.

“Let’s go,” he said, gently nudging the younger to move off of his lap so they could get up.

As they exited the scene, Minho waited skeptically for an interruption, for someone to divert Chan’s attention for the hundredth time, for _something_ to ruin the moment he’d been waiting for much longer than he wanted to admit.

But no such thing happened, and soon the two were alone, the hallway silent save for their soft footsteps as they approached Chan’s room. Minho felt his heart in his throat. His brain was going haywire—he had not a _clue_ of what he’d do or say when they were finally alone.

Minho slowly wandered into the room the leader currently shared with Changbin and Felix, eyes roaming the walls as Chan softly closed the door behind them. This was not the first time he’d been alone with the elder, not in the slightest, but he had _never_ been this nervous to face him one-on-one.

He soon felt Chan’s body warmth as the leader slowly approached him from behind until his torso was pressed gently to Minho’s back, arms wrapping around his waist. Hyunjin was right—he _was_ like a heat pack. Minho let his head fall back against the elder’s shoulder, exhaling shakily, blissed out and scared out of his mind at the same time.

“Talk to me,” Chan murmured, breath hot against his ear, hot enough to make Minho nearly melt into the ground. He let his eyes flutter closed, more than overwhelmed at their current position. This was all that he'd wanted for Christmas: to be alone with Chan, to have his full attention, at last. But now that he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it. He could hardly even _move_ from where he stayed scarily still in the leader’s arms.

Minho hummed, deep in thought— _too_ _much_ thought.

“I don’t really like talking,” he finally whispered back, cheeks heating up as he thought of what to say next. “I just… missed you.”

Chan hugged his waist tighter, swallowing—Minho could feel it from where he leaned back against the leader. It made his head spin with questions. He couldn’t be the only one that felt… _this_. Right?

Minho slowly turned around in his arms, then, so that they were face to face, his hands moving to rest gently upon Chan’s shoulders, while the elder’s gripped his waist at the sides now. Despite the few inches placed between them, it was still too close, too intimate. Both of their eyes shined with similar thoughts as they stared back and forth at each other, daring one another to say something, to _do_ something.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Minho said after a silent minute, quietly, lips forming a small pout. Chan stared at his mouth for a few seconds too long before meeting his vulnerable gaze again.

“Nothing,” the leader said reassuringly—though he looked plenty nervous himself in the moment, maybe as nervous as the younger was—while his fingers rubbed circles against the sides of Minho’s waist. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, Minho.”

“Then why,” the younger said, voice shaking slightly as he moved just a few centimeters closer, face coming so close to Chan's that they could practically _taste_ each other’s uneven breaths, “do I feel like this?”

His eyes were begging, pleading for answers. Chan looked back at him as though he were caught in a hundred different crises at once. Then, after swallowing nervously, the leader leaned forward so that their noses brushed together, exhaling slowly as his eyes fluttered shut. Neither of the pair moved for a long time, and neither spoke.

Minho gazed at the elder’s closed eyelids while he waited for what would happen next. His stomach was doing flips as his brain tried to catch up with the entire situation. How did he end up like this, with Chan’s arms around him and far too many words threatening to slip from his lips?

Each passing second where the elder didn’t move away from where their noses stayed pressed together gave Minho another sliver of hope, which simultaneously made him more uneasy. If Chan was going to hurt him—break him—tell him to stop acting the way he did and to stop _feeling_ things for him, then he needed to do it right now. He needed to do it before Minho was done counting his eyelashes, before he was done melting into his arms, before he was done _falling_.

Minho gulped again, eyes studying the leader’s face, the clock on the wall beside them ticking loudly in his ears while he waited for the elder to stop thinking whatever it was he was thinking and start _speaking_. Finally, after what felt like an hour, his eyes fluttered open, and Minho swore he had never seen them appear so soft in all the years he’d known him.

“We can’t,” Chan finally spoke, voice almost sounding choked. Minho’s heart slowly sunk at the words, settling onto the ground like one of the snowflakes outside.

When the leader didn’t elaborate—didn’t offer any sort of explanation or excuse—Minho pulled out from his hold, suddenly shivering all over without the other’s heat enveloping him. He tried his best not to appear as crushed as he felt.

“We can,” he whispered back coldly, distantly, with his heart thumping painfully in his chest. “I think you just don’t _want_ to.”

Chan stared at him, wide-eyed, as he prepared to walk past the elder and go sulk somewhere else for the rest of the night.

Before he could move too far, though, Chan was suddenly in his face again, backing him against the frame of the bunkbeds in a moment of desperation. And just as Minho was starting to process what was happening, there were plump lips pressing to his and warm hands cupping his cheeks. He gasped quietly against the elder’s mouth, hands hovering above his shoulders in shock as he tried to remember how to function. He kissed back twice as hard, the burning instincts that he'd been pushing down for far too long taking over the muddled chaos in his brain.

“I want to,” Chan corrected him in a low voice, between short, frantic pecks that left the younger dizzy. “Of _course_ I want to.”

Their movements were faster than strikes of lightning, Minho letting his arms wrap around the elder’s neck while Chan grabbed at his hips, pulling and pushing him until he was suddenly lying flat on whoever’s mattress this was. He was too preoccupied to wonder, though, too caught up in the feeling of Chan’s soft lips, the sweet taste of his tongue, the way his dark locks of hair seemed to fit just right in the gaps between his small fingers.

 _Chan’s_ fingers, on the other hand, were flaming hot where they slid under Minho’s sweater, feeling the plush skin of his torso softly, hesitantly in comparison to the way he relentlessly licked into his mouth. Minho whined appreciatively as the elder sucked on his lower lip, trapping Chan’s waist between his thighs now and pulling his head down so they were impossibly pressed together, not leaving room for a single millimeter between them.

It was searing hot where they lied wrapped around each other, lips moving like the two of them were scared they’d never have the chance to do this again. They could’ve burst into flames at that moment and neither would’ve noticed a difference; the heat that currently surrounded them and filled them to their very cores was _unmatchable_.

When Chan finally pulled away, leaving the two practically gasping for breath and wide-eyed as they quickly realized what they’d just done, Minho pressed his thighs even tighter around the leader’s torso, crossing his ankles, ice cold fear coursing through his veins at the thought of what might come next.

“Don’t go,” he breathed, voice small and insecure—more than he’d ever let it sound, especially in front of Chan. The elder took one of his hands off of his waist to brush back his bangs, hushing him, a small frown forming on his lips upon hearing the words.

“I’m not going anywhere, Minho,” he responded, leaving a delicate kiss on the younger’s cheek. “I’ve never gone anywhere. I’m always here—always will be.”

Minho felt something break in his chest at the words, the words he should’ve believed all along, but longed to hear, anyway.

“Really?” he whispered, eyes shining brightly as he stared up at the boy hovering just inches above him.

Chan only answered with a hand securely cupping his chin and another unexpected kiss—this one softer and slower than the first. Minho never, _ever_ wanted him to pull away. What was point of oxygen, anyway? What was the point of returning back to their lives when they could just keep on doing _this?_

But, like any other remarkable moment, this one had to end at some point. And so it did, with the unmistakable sound of the bedroom door swinging open.

The pair pulled away from each other’s lips instantly, parting as if they’d been scorched, pupils dilating in fear as they flopped around on the bed to see who could _possibly_ be standing in the doorway right now. Their jaws dropped wordlessly at the sight.

“Are you shitting me?” Changbin cried, hands on his hips. “It had to be _my_ bed?”

Both boys stared back at him, then at each other, then back at him, mouths agape and cheeks flushed. No words came out for several seconds. What was there to say? How could they even begin to explain this to _Changbin,_ when they couldn’t even explain it to _themselves?_

“Merry Christmas, Binnie...” Minho finally announced weakly, breaking out into a fit of nervous giggles. Chan said nothing at first, completely mortified to be caught, but slowly broke into a smile where he hid his face in the younger neck.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled against Minho’s skin in English, which only made the younger laugh harder.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Changbin huffed disbelievingly from the doorway, but the pair on the bed could hear the grin in his voice. He didn’t ask for any sort of explanation—he seemed to just _understand,_ perhaps even better than Minho or Chan did.

“I’ll… go tell the others that you’ll join us again in five," he sighed at last, turning on his heel to leave the bedroom. "Now would you please, _please_ give me the gift of _getting off my bed?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> merry (late) christmas, minchan nation!!!!! this was inspired by stray kids' car vlive on christmas day... if you know, you know. this will probably (definitely) not be my last time exploring minchan, so let me know what you thought :)
> 
> ★ nsfw twt: @[hanknowz](https://www.twitter.com/hanknowz)   
>  ★ sfw twt: @[leeknwoz](https://www.twitter.com/leeknwoz)   
>  ★ curiouscat: [hanknowz](https://curiouscat.qa/hanknowz)


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